Psychic Dark Lord Hotline
by Ron Weasley's Cutie
Summary: This was done for an ACHOO challenge! Involves a can of SPAM named Bob, Cowboy Jim and Cowboy Sue, and, of course, Voldie Woldie. Rather high PG, but you know how these things go.


Psychic Dark Lord Hotline

*waves* 'SUP DAWGS! *gets looks* I was KIDDING. K-I-D-D-I-N-G. *points* Look, I can spell! …Requirements were:
    
    - Someone must say "Bring me chocolate, mortal!"
    
    - The phrase "BAILAMOS!" must be included, which, in Spanish, means "we dance!"
    
    - Must include SPAM
    
    - Any Slytherin/former Slytherin should have a prominent role
    
    And now…TIME FOR FUN! *hops around happily*
    
    A dark cupboard, filled with cobwebs and forgotten cans of processed fruits and vegetables, and the furious, persistent sound of someone writing, is where we begin this tale. 
    
    Let us follow the sound of the writing, which leads to dusty can that proclaims, in peeling letters, 'SPAM'. Inside, some curious life form is scratching away on a tiny piece of paper in even smaller words that read,
    
    _Day 613 –_
    
    _Cold. Dark._
    
    _I have, at last, lost all hope for a possible chance of escape. _
    
    _I fear that, soon, the radioactive powers my creators have granted me will soon be over and done with. I shall have no more light to grant me peace on these –_
    
    And then, suddenly, the can was lifted from its hideaway of spider webs and dust. The life form, which shall now be known as Bob, just so I don't have to say life form anymore, looked up, frightened, and then felt a bump in his thorax area – he was being set down. He looked down at the piece of paper with wide eyes, crossed out his previous entry, and turned the paper over. Of course, he had never used this side, because it already had writing on it ('Inspected By #9'), but Bob figured, what the hell, and began to write excitedly.
    
    _Day 613 –_
    
    _Happiness is flowing through the processed pig veins within me!_
    
    _I have been lifted! I have been _chosen_! _
    
    _MY PRISON WILL BE NO MORE! _
    
    CREEEEEEEAK. (A/N: This is the sound of someone opening a rusty can of SPAM. Yes it is. Okay.)
    
    A sliver of light! Bob squinted hard, trying to get his eyes adjusted to it, and looked through the opening into the ideal, red-and-white farmer's kitchen. And then, out of nowhere, a gigantic red eye with a cat-like pupil peered at him, blocking his view of freedom. The eye blinked.
    
    "Confound it, Wormtail!" the owner of the eye screeched, holding the can before him as if it was a baby with a very iffy smell. Bob caught a glimpse of his releaser – a tall, ghostly white, human-esque creature who was, Bob giggled, _bald_.  
    
    Another human walked into the room – a short, fat one, with graying blond hair and a fearful look upon his face. "Y-yes, m-master?" it squeaked.
    
    Bob's releaser held out the can of Spam towards him. "Open this blasted thing, Wormtail! I am _hungry_."
    
    Wormtail, which Bob guessed was the fat one's name, nodded curtly and opened it. Bob felt the warmth of the light bulb above upon his face, and he looked up at his two releasers, and smiled.
    
    The tall one had a look of disgust on his face. "What is _that_, Wormtail? Are you trying to _poison _me?"
    
    Wormtail looked down into the can, to see a mound of pink mushy stuff staring back up at him with big, puppy dog eyes. The eyes blinked. 
    
    "It's…SPAM, master…" Wormtail concluded, finally.
    
    Well, thought Bob, it's now or never. "Hello," he said cheerfully.
    
    The tall one jumped. "WORMTAIL! It just spoke to me!"
    
    "Thank you for releasing me."
    
    "Get it away, Wormtail, get it away," he whimpered.
    
    "I-I'm not t-touching it, m-master…"Wormtail shuddered.
    
    "D'ya know, I think I was in there for three years."
    
    The tall one seemed to be trying to get a hold of himself, and he took out this long pointy stick thingy (Bob would never understand these humans), pointed it at him, and yelled, "I am Lord Voldemort, you foul creation of Muggles! BAILAMOS!" And with that, Voldemort murmured an ancient curse that sent tons of green smoke towards Bob.
    
    Wormtail was in awe. "W-what was that, m-my lord?"
    
    Voldemort chose not to answer, but pointed at his bum in a very obvious manner. Wormtail nodded. "Y-you never t-told me you a-adopted hobos, m-master."
    
    Voldemort bowed his head stiffly at the hobo in the corner. "They have powers that not even I can comprehend."
    
    "Say there," the bum spoke up, "none of you chaps would happen ter be able ter spare a quarter fer an old beggar, would ya?"
    
    "Shut up, inferior being!" Voldemort snarled, lifting his head up and waggling his finger dangerously at the hobo.
    
    The hobo put his hands up in a sign of defeat. "I was jus' askin', mate, no need ter git angry about it." There was an awkward pause, in which the hobo cocked his head at the can of SPAM, from which the green smoke was clearing. "That thing's…s'posed ter be dead, right?"
    
    "Yes." 
    
    "Jus' wanted ter know…"
    
    Voldemort looked over at the SPAM, and saw, sitting on the edge of the table—
    
    "MWAHAHAHAHAHA!"
    
    —the mushy pink stuff – the cheerful smile replaced with an evil one, and the puppy dog eyes now beady, black, and cold.
    
    Wormtail fainted. Bob threw back his…head, and laughed. 
    
    "Stupid mortals! I am Bob the SPAM, the soon-to-be ruler of the world! I –"
    
    "How will you do it, o Bob?" Voldemort asked, as he got down on his knees and began bowing before it.
    
    Bob looked at the fallen Dark Lord, and an idea so clever, so devious, so…Bob-ish, hit him. 
    
    "I know just the way…but first – BRING ME CHOCOLATE, MORTAL!"
    
    Voldemort jumped, and scurried off to find chocolate for his master, muttering something about how _he_ wasn't a mortal, but oh, no, these young 'I'm better than you because I'm hip' Dark Lords just never took the time to find that out, did they? No, no, no, certainly not…
    
    At this very moment, Wormtail got up and headed for Las Vegas, where he successfully opened his own casino (Wormtail's Rat-hole of Fun), became a multi-millionaire (the kind that are always surrounded by skimpily dressed women), and was shot by a Scottish pirate named Billy-Bob at the age of sixty-nine. 
    
    ***
    
    Ring. Ring. Ring.
    
    Voldemort picked up the phone.
    
    "Psychic Dark Lord Hotline, how may our evil ways help you make your life a steaming mound of dog poo crawling with flat worms and maggots?" he said in the bored tone of one who really wants to go and fry up some SPAM but is forced to answer phones all day.
    
    The voice on the other end said, "Well dude, if you're psychic, then aren't you supposed to know?"
    
    "You had an affair with your door stopper."
    
    "DUDE! How'd you know?"
    
    "Shut up, you worthless bat dropping."
    
    "Hey, dude, that was cru –"
    
    Click. Voldemort had hung up.
    
    "How's business today, slave?" Bob asked, peering down at Voldemort from his highchair.
    
    "Wonderful, as usual, your Lordship."
    
    "Excellent, excellent…soon, Igor –"
    
    "Voldemort, master," Voldemort cut in.
    
    "Fine, fine, _Voldemort_." Bob sneered. "As I was saying, soon, we will be able to…" He leaned his head back and yelled, "TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD!"
    
    Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Oh, shove it up your a –"
    
    _[Ragtime music starts playing] _
    
    **_Cowboy Jim: _**_Howdy there, kids! We're sorry we had ta interrupt that there fic, but we don't want you li'l critters gettin' the wrong idea 'bout our choice of quality fanfictions!_
    
    **_Cowgirl Sue:_**_That's righ', Jim! And while ya'll're waitin' for a new fic to come on ta that there computer screen, why don't you take a gander at our sponsor? Announcer Guy, 'choo like to do them there honors?_
    
    **_Announcer Guy:_**_ I sure would, Cowgirl Sue! [hearty wink] Have you ever been ridiculed for your so-called back hair? Do your friends constantly tease you about your thin, almost invisible hairs that are supposed to make you a **man**? Well, if you want that thick, curly back hair that you've always dreamed of, then try our new product: **Back, Hair, Back! **By using our fine combination of natural herbs and radioactive goo, you'll **never** be able to stop those hairs from growing! (Warning: By using this product, some consumers' back hairs may develop a mind of their own and try to kill the consumer and his/her family. May also cause constipation and/or those icky things that are filled with pus.)_
    
    **_Cowboy Jim:_**_ An' that's not all there is, folks! Listen here to this here **excitin' **offer!_
    
    **_Announcer Guy:_**_ That's right, Cowboy Jim! Today, and today only, you, yes **you**, can buy this –_
    
    **_Everyone:_**_ Oh, shove it up you're a –_
    
    _[Computer screen switches to those blocks of color and goes 'beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep']_
    
    *crosses fingers* I hope I win, I hope I win…
    
    toodles,
    
    Ron Weasley's Cutie__


End file.
